Pitcher Perfect, page 27
“Hey,” she said, lamely, unable to meet his gaze. Staring at the slight cleft in his chin, instead. Or was that a dent from a puck?
“Hey,” he said, pausing for a moment before taking off his hat, dropping it to his outer thigh. “You going to look at me?”
“I can’t.”
“It’s bad enough suffering through hour after hour without you, Skylar.” His voice turned gruffer as he spoke. “Knowing you’re in bad shape, too, might be the death blow, you know that? Look at me.”
Suffering? Her eyes lifted of their own accord to search for signs of misery and . . . God, she found them. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken deep, creases on his forehead that hadn’t been there before, the corners of his mouth turned down.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “You see what life without you does to me?”
Her breath caught. “Did you come here to tell me you’re miserable?”
“I didn’t know what I was going to do until I got here and saw you.”
“And?”
His Adam’s apple lifted. Stuck. “You have a ball and a couple of gloves in that bag?”
“I always have a ball and a couple of gloves,” she whispered, aching with the barely controlled need to throw her arms around him and inhale his scent. “Why?”
“You told me the first pitch is the hardest. That once you throw the first one, you settle into your game.” He toed her fallen bag with his boot. “Why don’t you throw it to me before you go in? Get the nerves out of your system.”
I love you.
I love you I love you.
The gesture wasn’t necessary. They both knew the true first pitch wouldn’t start until she stood on the mound. That would be the one accompanied by ten thousand mosh pitting nerves. His offer was simply proof that he knew her so well. That he still cared. That he had been listening and paying attention and learning her.
It meant the world.
“Okay,” Skylar said quietly, surprised when her agreement seemed to drop Robbie’s shoulders with relief, his chest expanding. Trying not to read too deeply into his presence, his actions, she got out the gloves, handing him one. As he backed up along the edge of the stadium, Skylar saw that everyone else had left, including her parents and Elton. It was just her, standing with the ball, and Robbie, dropping into a catcher’s stance thirty yards away, his hat turned backward, waiting, the sounds of the parking lot beginning to hum with early arrivals.
She expected the pitch to be a formality. A quick show of goodwill that she probably didn’t deserve. But that’s not what happened at all. As she stood there, preparing to throw, his unwavering gaze slowly started to calm the choppy ocean surface inside of her. His lips weren’t moving, but somehow, she could hear him, feel him on every side of her, his presence a reassurance. Everything was currently not all right, but the longer she took to throw the ball, the more his expression changed, becoming one of naked vulnerability, the knot in his throat getting trapped beneath his beard.
Skylar wound up and pitched, hitting the dead center of his glove.
He smiled at her, stood, and removed the glove while shaking out his hand.
“Nerves.” Robbie winked at her. “What nerves?”
She threw her glove down and ran to him. And it was a singular kind of euphoria knowing that even though things weren’t perfect or back on track by any means, he’d still catch her. He’d still show up. Halfway to his open arms, she knew she could trust this man with her heart. Trust him, period. It was right there in the unwavering dedication in his eyes, in the way he didn’t budge an inch when she landed against him, his arms catching and holding her there. Squeezing her tight and rocking her, neither one of them seeming to breathe.
“I might still be hurt and angry that you doubted me and went on a revenge mission after I went all in on us, Skylar,” he said, hoarsely, “but I’m painfully in love with you, too, and that’s not going to change.”
Heart elevating, she made a choked sound into his neck. “I miss you so much.”
“God, I miss you, too. Every fucking second.”
Tell him you love him.
Skylar needed to say those words, but they wouldn’t come out. They remained locked in her most stubborn of recesses, refusing to be uttered until she earned the right to say them. When she did, when she allowed herself to make that declaration in return, he needed to know she meant them with her entire heart. Right now, he still doubted her, the way she’d doubted him—and the turnabout sucked, but there it was.
There they were.
Robbie set her down with palpable reluctance, holding her against his body, his breath accelerating against her temple when she shifted against him, lifting on her toes and letting him feel her breasts and belly and the gap between her legs, trapping a moan when he braced a forearm against her butt and rocked her closer, his mouth finding hers in a groaning kiss, a melting, hungry one that at once satisfied and starved her even more. The kind of kiss someone gave their partner before sending them off to war, but it was coming from both sides, so much passion in the single melding of tongues and lips, she grew dizzier and dizzier in the sunlight. Gloves and ball were dropped in favor of his fingers digging into her hair, while Skylar traced the grooves of his ears, his neck, his shoulders, simply needing to reacquaint and memorize.
A car door slammed a few yards away and they still couldn’t stop kissing, not right away. It was more of a gradual slowing down out of necessity, both of them pulling back, dazed while trying to catch their breath.
“There is no one in this world for me except you,” he said, looking her in the eye. “Go in there and pitch the lights out. I’ll be there. I’ve got your back.”
Skylar’s heart rapped wildly in her chest. “I know.”
He swallowed hard as he backed away. “Good.”
That was the last time she saw Robbie until he was sitting in the stands, wedged in between Elton and her father. Eating a foot long chili dog. Obviously.
Everything was going to be all right. That belief was unwavering.
Robbie had made himself clear by showing up. Declaring himself so lovingly.
Now she had to find a way to do the same.
To give him the same faith and security he’d given her.
A grand gesture.
An idea would come to her . . . but would it be a good enough one?
That was a different story.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Robbie knew the exact moment he wasn’t mad anymore.
Skylar sat down beside his mother in the stands on Thursday night wearing a Bearcats hoodie and he almost jumped through the glass to get to her. Thing was, Skylar didn’t even know those were his parents. But his parents knew damn well she was Skylar because he’d told them everything over dinner last night when they landed in Boston and now, he could barely focus on his stretching routine, he was so riveted by that first interaction.
His mother snuck a peek at the girl beside her and smiled like a cat who’d got the canary, giving Robbie a covert double thumbs-up. Skylar didn’t notice, because she was observing a trio of bare-chested fans with furry cat ears screaming, “Bearcat Nation yeahhhh,” into a live television camera several feet away.
Robbie watched without breathing as his parents introduced themselves and Skylar froze, before leaning forward and hugging his mother, making her smile like he’d never seen before, not even when everyone complimented her shepherd’s pie. Yeah. He stopped being mad at Skylar probably forever in that moment—and became well and truly pissed at himself. How had three fucking days passed since he’d kissed her in the parking lot before her Monday night game? How had he stayed away?
How?
For one, he’d been traveling for the first two games of the series and had been in and out of team meetings, media sessions, and workouts. On top of that, he’d been on the phone with a real estate lawyer trying to put a down payment on a condo in Brookline that had been easy to find because it was owned and advertised by the same management company that owned his current building. Still, he could have called Skylar. No, he should have called, except his heart had still felt raw and beat-up. Until now. Now it was bleeding for a different reason. He needed his girl. It was bullshit that he didn’t have her.
She’d hugged his mother.
“Hey,” Sir Savage barked, knee-deep in his back stretches beside Robbie. “Series is tied. Head in the game.” The soon-to-retire team captain coughed. “That does make a nice picture, though. Is that their first time meeting?”
“Yes,” Robbie managed, feeling ridiculously winded over having his idol acknowledge the important moment out loud. “I probably should have warned Skylar that she’d be sitting next to my parents, but I didn’t want to spook her.”
“So you blindsided her, instead,” Sig said, grinning on the other side of Robbie. “Good call.”
“Looks like it’s working out fine, doesn’t it?” Robbie shot back.
“Sure does, buddy,” Mailer said, patting him on the back as he skated by. “What do you think they’re talking about?”
“Me, obviously.”
Sir Savage grunted. “All good stuff, I’m sure.”
“Yeah.” Robbie picked up his stick and stood, suddenly determined to have the best game of his life. “Would it be crazy if I ask her to move in with me?”
“Yes,” they all said at once.
“I don’t care. I’m doing it. I’m going to marry her, too.”
“Why the rush?” Mailer wanted to know.
Sig and Burgess both opened their mouths, seemingly to second Mailer’s concerns, but they snapped them shut just as fast, their attention drawn to the family section where Tallulah and Chloe sat side by side, waving at their boyfriends.
“I get the rush,” Sig said gruffly.
“Same.” Burgess sighed. “Ask her. Tonight. Don’t waste a second.”
But Robbie wouldn’t get the chance to ask. Not until much later.
Sensory overload.
Until tonight, Skylar hadn’t known about hockey stretches. But oh, she knew now. Try talking to the mother of your sort-of boyfriend while he humps the ice one hundred yards away. It isn’t easy to concentrate. She’d been so startled when Angela introduced herself, she’d gone in for the hug, which, frankly, had felt like the right thing to do. Her first impulse. And Angela hadn’t seemed to mind.
The reality was, Skylar wasn’t Robbie’s girlfriend, though. Not really. She’d shown up at Boston Garden tonight unsure if he’d even left a ticket at the box office. There had been no communication between them since their kiss in the parking lot, a kiss that she could still feel wash over her body every time she closed her eyes. Maybe waiting for Robbie to stop being mad was hopeless. Maybe love wasn’t enough when two people had doubted each other the way they had.
Or maybe she needed to make a gesture. Something more than showing up at a game and sitting in a seat. She’d spent the last three days trying to come up with an act of love to show she’d been paying attention, that every moment they’d spent together had been important, the way Robbie had done when he’d offered to catch her first pitch in the parking lot. As of now, she was still drawing a blank.
“I hear you’re a big-time pitcher,” Angela said, smiling, her Long Island accent offering the pronunciation pitcha. “Robbie says you’re a phenom.”
An embarrassing level of heat pressed behind Skylar’s eyes. He talked to his mother about me. Maybe this wasn’t so hopeless after all. “Yeah, I am pretty good,” Skylar murmured without thinking.
Robbie’s mother cracked a laugh. “I love that confidence!”
Skylar smiled through her flush. “That’s how I met Robbie, actually. Did you know the Bearcats have a rivalry with some local baseball players? One of them is my brother. Imagine my surprise when I was dragged out of bed on a Saturday morning to pitch against a professional hockey team.”
Angela shook her head, only mildly astonished. “I’m sure my son was the ringleader. He’s a good boy, but wherever he goes, trouble follows.” Quickly, she reached over and squeezed Skylar’s hand. “Not that you have any reason to worry.”
“I’m not worried,” Skylar reassured her, meaning it. One hundred percent meaning it. She trusted that man down on the ice with her life. Her heart. “He’d probably say he’s the fun kind of trouble.”
“You’re right, he would say that.” Angela gave her a once-over. “Why aren’t you wearing his jersey?”
“Oh, I . . .” Skylar trailed off, not knowing what to say. She ended with a jerky shrug, giving Angela an apologetic look for not having an answer.
Robbie’s mother scrutinized Skylar’s expression and made a sound of understanding. “You’re unsure about where you two stand after your little tiff, is that it?”
God, this woman got to the point fast. “It wasn’t so little.”
“Well, it couldn’t have been that big, either. He talked our ears off about you all damn night.” She elbowed her husband in the ribs, sloshing his beer. “Didn’t he, Clark?”
A long-suffering sigh. “Yup.”
“Robbie has never talked to us about a girl before. Suddenly, there he is getting choked up talking about the little gold flecks in your eyes. Fight be damned, all right?”
“All right,” Skylar responded, grateful for the insight even though it made her heart all the heavier. If he was so enamored of her, why hadn’t he called? Texted?
He needs that gesture.
You’re blowing it.
“Dinner was gorgeous, by the way. Have you been to Mamma Maria? I had a chicken piccata that was well worth the heartburn, let me tell you. My ankles are swollen from all the salt.”
“Here we go again with the ankle talk,” muttered Robbie’s dad—and maybe Skylar had no right fantasizing this way, but she could only imagine the hilarity that would ensue when these people met their polar opposites in Vivica and Doug.
“Robbie kept getting phone calls during the meal from his real estate agent, but all in all, a lovely night.”
Skylar’s ears perked up. “Real estate agent?”
“He’s been planning a move for over a week. He didn’t tell you?”
Over a week? Skylar was almost too stunned to respond. “N-no.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s not like he’s leaving Boston.” She patted Skylar’s knee. “He just wants a place of his own.”
Skylar stared straight forward, pulse tickling her wrists, trying to process that information. Robbie was moving out of his bachelor pad with Mailer? Was it possible, even just a little, that he was doing that for her? For their relationship?
No. No way.
Right? Wouldn’t he have told her, if that was the case?
Hypothetically, however, if he was moving out of his party palace and into his own apartment to show he was serious about their relationship—and she’d still gone out with Madden for that drink—she was an even bigger asshole than she’d realized. Plus, she was falling even further behind on Big Gestures than she thought.
“Forgive my son if he’s taking a little while to straighten things out between you two. You see, Robbie used to get most of his advice from his grandfather. My father.” Angela crossed herself. “If he was still alive, he’d be sitting next to you with an extra large Coke giving you statistics for everyone on the ice. He was a big character.”
“I’ve been told a lot about him,” Skylar managed. “I heard he loved to fly kites.”
“That’s true. That big yellow one . . .”
The static rush in Skylar’s ears drowned out the rest of what Angela said. Yellow kite. The one that was stuck in the tree that Robbie couldn’t get down because of his fear of heights. Robbie’s words drifted back to her while she watched him finish warm-ups and leave the ice, presumably preparing to be introduced and start the game. It’s ridiculous, but as long as his kite is stuck in that tree, I’ll have this weird sense of things being unfinished. Or unresolved. Like he’s out there somewhere missing that damn kite.
Skylar didn’t have a fear of heights. She could get him that kite.
She could do this thing that was important to him and earn her right to say I love you. Maybe then he’d be ready to start dating her again. Because she couldn’t stand being trapped in the uncertainty anymore when she was so sure of Robbie, she felt him in her bones.
“Where exactly is this yellow kite that got stuck in the tree?”
Robbie walked into the friends and family waiting room ready to propose.
No bullshit.
Don’t get him wrong, he’d concentrated as much as possible on the game—and they’d secured the W, bringing the series to 2–1—but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t sneak approximately ten thousand looks at his beautiful girl sitting in the stands with his parents. At this point, his heart was going to tumble out of his fucking chest if he didn’t kiss Skylar and sleep in the same bed as her tonight. Tonight.
No more screwing around. This was serious. He felt ill.
So why didn’t he see her anywhere? Wives, girlfriends, parents, assorted family for the entire roster, down to the equipment manager. No Skylar.
“Where is she? Where’s Skylar?”
His mother drew him down for a kiss on the cheek. “Nice to see you, too. What a joy she is, Robbie. Pure joy. So much heart and sincerity for such a young girl. She left.”
Robbie’s entire chest lurched, like a semitruck slamming on the brakes. “What do you mean, ‘she left’?”
“She said she had something to do.”
Something to do?
Like a date?
Nope. Absolutely not. That was irrational.
Unless he’d waited too long to get his head out of his ass.
Robbie dropped his equipment bag to the floor with a thud, raking a panicked hand through his hair, the pulse in his neck sprinting like a mailman trying to outrun a Doberman. Crouching down, he riffled through the front pocket of his bag, freeing his phone and calling Skylar, his chest seizing at all the heart emojis he’d added to her contact profile when he was drunk on lasagna. He was going to add more later.
